


date night

by too_much_in_the_sun



Category: Dark Tower - Stephen King, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, Genderqueer Character, Spiders, fluff with spiders, look i don't know it's a fluffy spider date night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:24:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/too_much_in_the_sun/pseuds/too_much_in_the_sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You have a roommate. She is a large, crystalline spider. She brings home her boyfriend for dinner.</p><p>His name is Mordred Deschain. He is also a spider.</p><p>Sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	date night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GuesssWho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuesssWho/gifts).



Your friend the crystalline spider has a boyfriend.

Well, not a boyfriend. You haven't exactly pried into the topic, as it can be sensitive for members of the arachnid community, but he sounds like a troubled soul who is working out his problems gradually. You understand that. 

One night you broach the question. "I don't mean to be rude, but is he... like you?"

She shimmers in shades of happiness. "Kind of!" she oscillates. "He's also like you. Sometimes." 

This is a typical Night Vale answer, so you don't press any further until she asks if he can come home to dinner.

She calls you at work, asks if she can talk to you when you get home. You get the message on your way home, and a spike of panic drives through you at the thought that it might be about something you did.

It is not.

Eluria is waiting on her couch, and skitters forward, flashing nervousness at you. "It's not anything you did!" she chimes quickly. "I want to talk to you about inviting someone over."

You set your purse down on the kitchen table. It is black leather and compliments your chunky motorcycle boots very nicely. "Who?" You appreciate her asking; though this week has been good as far as depression goes, it is often the case that you can barely abide Eluria's familiar presence.

"My friend." She flushes with her equivalent of a blush. It is actually pink, one of the few emotions she shows in a human-like way.

"Your... boyfriend?" You sink down onto your couch. Eluria is very tactile and enjoys sitting together, but it's difficult for her to manuever herself onto your couch. When you have movie-and-wine nights you usually end up both on her couch, which is more of a futon with a low rim all around.

She sparks with a non-verbal yes. "I thought I'd cook dinner for him, but I'm not sure what he likes. He just said he wanted to come over to my place sometime if it was okay."

"Dinner would be nice," you say, thinking. If you have enough energy that day, you can help cook. The adjustment to thinking of things in terms of potential energy levels was rough, but you have more or less gotten used to it, though it's frustrating to never be able to promise your help with certainty. "Do you know anything about what kind of food he likes? I can cook a little bit, human-style."

"Meat?" She flickers with uncertainty. "He likes Big Rico's, but I don't know if that's just because he has to. I've seen him at some community events, and he seems to like beef the most. Human-style and spider-style."

Spider-style being 'as close to alive and wriggling as possible'. Although some of the spiders you've dined with in the past -- not many except Eluria -- seem to enjoy certain kinds of pastries. Apparently it's the crunch of the outside compared to soft insides.

"I can work with that. We could even do steak tartare for him." 

"You think he might like that?" You've 'cooked' it for her before, and she pronounced it acceptable. 

"It's the only human dish I know that's sort of spider-style," you confess. "Other than sushi, but it's kind of tough to get fish here."

"I know," she sighs. "I love Night Vale and all, but I miss good fish." Again, you have never exactly pried, but Eluria grew up in a sea-side town in a dimension that was certainly not Earth. 

"Is there anything else I should know since he's coming over?" 

"I need to clean up my half of the apartment," she says, with a dim flicker of unhappiness. "You're so organized, but I'm just a mess. We've only met at community events before and I don't want him to think I'm a slob..." She trails off, then brightens up (literally, like a soft yellow camera flash). "Oh! He did say one thing. He has a big appetite."

"OK," you say, thoughtfully. "Well, I can only afford so much steak on my salary, but we have that side of beef in the sacrifice fridge, right?"

"It might be kind of freezer-burned," she muses, "but we did only buy that six weeks ago. I think that should be fine."

"You're refilling that fridge, though," you say, aiming your tone for friendly needling. You and Eluria both have trouble reading the emotions of others -- she because she grew up among people who literally show their emotions on their bodies, and you because, well, you're you. 

"We're not due for a sacrifice anytime soon, are we?" she asks, flickering with suppressed anxiousness.

"No," you say, slowly. "I've been meaning to do one with coyote-kill deer to see if that'll help me any, but I can't get my hands on any. It's not really a thing that runs on a schedule."

"OK," she says, and giggles. "I'm so glad I have you around to help me."

A warmth of happiness blooms in your chest, an actual physical warmth. Sometimes Eluria is irritating, and sometimes you have been callous to her while your brain chases itself in angry circles, but her kindness has been a balm to you when you have needed it most.

* * *

She talks to him. He has a busy schedule, but eventually they work out a date that's convenient to them both -- a Saturday night. You're not doing anything, your energy is good, there are no municipal restrictions. The stars seem to have aligned in your favor. Possibly literally so.

She goes to meet him in the lobby of your building, and you wait anxiously in the front room of your apartment. You've changed outfits three times tonight, fretting about how he will perceive you. In the end you've decided on a nice purple tunic that compliments the brown of your skin, and a nice pair of black furry pants from a store Cecil recommended on the radio. You have a pair of heels that goes excellently with this outfit, but since you're not leaving the apartment it might not be worth it to wear them, no matter how pretty they are.

You are fidgeting on the couch when there's a rap on the door and it opens. It's Eluria, leading in this boyfriend of hers.

He appears human-like. A little rough-edged and grungy, but he has his dark hair back in a ponytail and a neat bolo tie at his throat. The slide at the center is a deep red with a black, seven-legged spider figured on it. His skin would be naturally tan, but he has the paleness of someone recovering from illness.

You spring up from the couch. "Hi, I'm Eluria's roommate," you say as the two of them enter and Eluria shuts the door behind her. Her friend stops to shuck off his shoes at the door. They're nice, with a low heel.

"Nice to meet you," he says. His voice is pleasant, and tingles around the edge of your mind like he's poking around with a psi talent. You're not particularly receptive to psi communications, but you send your best clumsy hello back to him.

"I'm Xochipilli." You restrain the urge to put out your hand to shake. It's not a custom everyone in Night Vale follows. "What's your name?"

"Mordred." Behind you, Eluria is clicking around in the kitchen. You hear the clang as she gets your cast iron skillet out of the cabinet. 

"Do you prefer any particular pronouns?" Your voice doesn't tremble. You're getting used to asking this question. It is somewhat customary here, which surprised you when you first arrived.

"I prefer he, him, and his," he says slowly. "Forgive me, English isn't exactly my first language. Do you have preferences?"

There's still a pleasant frisson in your stomach that he cares to ask. "Yes. Please call me they."

He nods slowly. His eyes are sharply blue. The phrase 'bombardier's eyes' flashes across your consciousness and disappears. This occasionally happens in Night Vale. Being in between dimensions has its downsides. "Thank you for inviting me to your home."

"I don't have company very often," you admit.

He smiles, and you understand what attracted Eluria to him. His smile is brief and small, but it hints at a deeper nature than his stiff, cold exterior. "I don't either."

Eluria's clickings have slowed. You hear the splashing as she checks the thawing meat, the opening of the fridge as she gets out the steak. 

"Do you want a drink or something?" you ask, stepping back from the entryway towards the living room area. 

He nods. "Water is fine. May I sit?"

"Yes, anywhere." You wave your hand at the couches. You also have pillows on the floor, because sometimes couches, while appealing, just aren't where you want to sit.

Eluria is fluttering with nervous excitement in the kitchen as you fetch a glass from the cabinet. You pour Mordred's glass from the tap and set it on the counter.

"Eluria?"

"Yes?" She doesn't turn, but two of her eyes roll over to focus on you. This alarmed you for about the first week you lived together, when she still stayed mainly in the kitchen. 

"Take this in to Mordred. I'll cook. You two spend some time together."

"Thank you!" she chitters, and scurries off into the living room, glass balanced on her... carapace. You have decided she does this with some form of localized telekinesis, because you're not sure that any explanation she could give would do more than confuse you.

Mordred seems nice enough. You wonder how he got to Night Vale.

* * *

After dinner you make coffee and the three of you nestle into the couches for relaxed talk. 

Mordred has become a giant spider.

He shifted after you served the steak, shyly communicating that Eluria had told him there was a second course. You couldn't exactly resist, and you are now one side of beef lighter. Watching him eat was no different from watching Eluria during a meal, although unusual considering he had shortly before been an attractive humanoid male.

Not much to your surprise, he can still talk. There aren't many were-spiders in Night Vale, but the few you have met through Eluria can communicate in both forms.

He does look a little odd as a spider, you have to admit. The were-spiders you've met are either all spider or all human, no in between. Mordred in this form is mostly spider, a great black spider with seven legs and a red mark, but there is a human head on his back. It looks just the same as it did on a humanoid body, though he doesn't seem to speak from it now. The lips sure don't move.

"So how did you meet Eluria?" you inquire.

You're not sure of the exact mechanics of it, but the two of them are snuggling in whatever way large spiders do, and he loosens himself from Eluria's octopode grip to explain, in no great detail. 

"I'm an event organizer in the tarantula community," he says/sends. "We met at a potluck."

"That's nice," you say, genuinely meaning it. You have had no great success with romance in your own life, and it's good that Eluria has found somebody she likes.

"He reads to children," Eluria says, with a ripple of kindhearted amusement.

His human head blushes. "Yes, sometimes. I also run bingo nights. And our potlucks."

"Wow," you say. "I wish I could do stuff like that."

"Why don't you?" he inquires. 

"I don't have a lot of energy some days," you tell him bluntly. If Eluria trusts him, you trust him this much. 

"Fair enough." There is a far-away look to him. You recognize it from when Eluria thinks about her past. "I had a... rough childhood," he sends. "It's been difficult to learn things like how to interact with people correctly. I don't think I've ever gotten the hang of it. I wasn't expecting the council to appoint me an event organizer, but I'm doing all right so far."

"That's good." You are warm and well-fed and basking in the glow of a social interaction that is going well. "It's been nice having you over tonight."

"Thank you," he sends, and you think you see a smile on his lips.

* * *

The desert night is cool and pleasant, and Mordred is not alone. He is well-fed and these people are kind to him. The terrors of his childhood are shut away for now, under layers of an adult life that, while not easy, has been controllable. He is not always happy, but Mordred Deschain, once son of a Red Father and White Father, now no one's son, is content with his lot.

The world turns on for him, and for Night Vale.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the same narrator and spider as in "[does it feel like a trial?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/935730)", but it's not necessary to have read that to read this.
> 
> This _idea_ came from a comment thread on another fic, "[the way you trouble mine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/978750)", where the idea of Mordred as tarantula community leader was suggested.


End file.
